Rotten Lunches, Smelly Socks and Flu Pie

Now that I’ve spent the better part of two weeks grumbling about surgery and skunks and such, I think it’s high time I found another topic. And even though it seems like I will NEVER be able to bend over without tears springing to my eyes or drive myself to the store for tampons, even I am smart enough to know that I can only milk it for so long. Oh well.

Tomorrow is back to normal day. Hubby is going into the office after three days off and one working from home (plus the weekend). I’ve barely started lifting the baby and my belly’s still on fire, but I should be fine. ☺ The biggest challenge is that Miss 6 has after school yoga and a birthday party after that. Nothing like kicking things off with a bang.

Speaking of pick up/drop off: Back in the olden days, our parents dropped us off in front of school while queuing up in a long line of cars. We ran in, weaving through/dodging traffic, barely making it in by the bell — and relatively unscathed. Now drop off consists of parking a block or more away, hauling Beanie out of the car and into the stroller, making sure Miss 6 has everything (which she usually does not), crossing at least one busy street, climbing up 20+ steep steps at the front of the school (or taking the even steeper driveway to the side with the stroller), and then walking all the way around to the back to line up and wait for the bell outside the classroom. And since we’ve had at least one lockdown due to mountain lions prowling the school grounds and due to the fact that I am certain that every stranger is a kidnapper, suffice it to say that we have chosen to wait for the bell too. At least until she’s off at college.

Pick up is all of that in reverse. But add in at least one stop every few days to dig through rotten lunchboxes and smelly socks (aka: the school’s lost and found) to try to find a jump rope, jacket, hat, water bottle, or anything else Miss 6 took to school. Even though she carries a backpack EVERY day, she doesn’t seem to find it useful as a receptacle for tossed off items of actual value — only the ga-gillion drawings and notes she receives from her friends throughout the day. I can’t help but note that I special-ordered name labels and have ironed or stuck them to EVERYTHING that makes the daily voyage. This obviously helps tremendously. Especially if 50 other kids have a size 6 J. Crew jean jacket or the exact same purple ski hat. I wouldn’t want to retrieve the wrong one.

So back to tomorrow. The clients have started to call. There’s a whole list of to-dos. So it ought to be interesting. Then, packing up Beanie to do pick up, only to wait around until yoga is over. To then wait around until the party is over. I’m tired just thinking about it. I think it’s time Miss 6 got her own Blackberry. Her schedule is too busy for me to keep track of. And I am actually the loser mom of the bunch who NEVER signs her up for anything and has the audacity to decline some of the parties. The nerve.

In other news, I just heard from my rock star friend who coordinated all of the childcare and dinner efforts so thoughtfully and efficiently. Last week her kids were coughing so hard that they vomited — all over her, her husband, the bedding, etc. — just as her dryer went out. Today she called to say that she won’t be bringing dinner tomorrow because the kids all have the flu and she has bronchitis. Isn’t that just a kicker. Flu pie anyone?

TODAY’S EPIPHANY: Good thing I opted not to start that bonfire with my maternity clothes. Those pants really come in handy after abdominal surgery. ☺

I think I need a nap. Gotta shore up for the big re-entry into life.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Lose Yourself. Eminem. (Because I no longer plan to hide my proclivity for rap music. It just is what it is.)